


Dry

by thors_soft_cheeks



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Alcoholism, Chubby Thor, Depression, M/M, Sad, Street busker, bard!Thor, busker!Thor, but does it anyway, he is a terrible singer, homeless, traveller - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19199911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thors_soft_cheeks/pseuds/thors_soft_cheeks
Summary: The streets of Oslo are coloured by a raspy voice and a poorly tuned guitar, coming from a depressed drunk travelling busker who seemed to have come from out of nowhere. He doesn't stop singing, not even during the heat wave of 2018.





	Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Written when I saw Chris Hemsworth perform 'Hurt' dressed as Thor in Endgame. He reminded me of a busker we had in town and I had to write this! I'm not putting too much in the tags yet because otherwise the surprise may be gone.

This was undoubtedly the hottest and driest summer in ages. A violent heat wave had been scorching the European continent for weeks, even months now. Pastures turned to yellow, dried out patches of dead land. Rivers that were once rich and flowing became tiny, muddy streams. Ponds were almost two metres lower than usual around this time of the year and forest fires raged all through the Scandinavian peninsula, leaving ruin in their wake. Crops dried out and drove farmers to their their wits end and papers spoke of an inferno almost daily. 

And there was no relief, no rainy period in sight. The disheartened weather man had nothing but disappointment to offer. Nobody was prepared for this, let alone used to it. Norwegian summers were usually mild and rainy, sometimes a little bit too rainy. But now the most successful businesses these days were ice cream parlours or anyone who would sell bottled water to go because the mantra was ‘stay hydrated’. Not to mention the airco dealers that could barely handle the overwhelming demand for cooler houses.

The streets of Oslo were mostly quiet, many people chose to stay indoors to avoid a heat stroke and only go out when it was absolutely necessary. Old Town or ‘gamle Oslo’ was rarely quiet though, because even now the heat was at its peak, on mid day, a raspy voice paired up with a poorly tuned guitar, echoed through the streets. The melody was heavy, soaked in sadness through and through. And the slight dissonance in tones underlined the profound melancholy in every song even more.

A large, disheveled man sat in the shadow against one of a tall building, singing and playing his heart out. His long hair was matted, greasy and bleached by the sun, he had a scar across his left eye and his beard had not been kept in what seemed like years. His sunglasses were full of cracks but he still wore them. His guitar strings needed a replacement about three years ago but he still kept strumming them with passion. 

His weathered guitar bag was full of holes but also had some money in it, likely from people who mostly pitied him instead of rewarding him for his music. A couple of beer cans of the cheapest brand stood next to him. They were hard to get by these days due to the strict alcohol laws in this country. They were his treasure. 

He was known in town as a delusional drunk who couldn’t sing but did it anyway. Most people would just pass him by or even keep a little distance. There were days where he would be so drunk that he would randomly go and talk to people, telling them stories that were too fantastic to be true. 

He had even spent a couple of nights at the police station because he would not stop talking about how he was actually a god, but how his grief and hurt had affected him so badly that he could no longer use his powers. And he probably shouted at his audience, causing an uproar. He doesn’t really remember much from that night. Only that the bed at the police station was actually pretty comfortable and he got free breakfast before they let him go.

He knew damn well was ridiculed and laughed at for his fantasy. Just another crazy person. The town’s fool. The local idiot. The only godly thing about him was probably his name; Thor. 

When Thor had finished his song, he took a sip of his lukewarm beer to make his dry throat feel less awful. He was tired, exhausted from the continuous heat. It was inescapable and taking his dirty shirt off only helped a little. He noticed his skin had never been so tanned before and freckles had appeared all over his chest, his shoulders, his big belly and his face during the last couple of weeks. 

He sighed and leaned back against the cool stone wall for a moment. The coins in his guitar bag glistened in the sun. Suddenly his eyes were drawn to something that seemed like a roll of cash between the coins. ‘Nice. More beer.’ he mumbled and took hold of it to count the money. When he unrolled the cash, a note fell out. ‘I know who you are. Do you?’


End file.
